


Crazy little thing called love

by NeverAndAlways



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Childbirth, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Family Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Parents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Sort of? - Freeform, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAndAlways/pseuds/NeverAndAlways
Summary: If you like the story, please leave a comment -- I'd love to hear from you!





	Crazy little thing called love

This is not at all how Crowley thought the evening was going to go. When he’d started having contractions that morning, he thought he’d end the day where he started it, in Aziraphale’s flat behind the bookshop. That’s where he’d planned to deliver from the very beginning. What he hadn’t planned was for Hastur and Ligur to drop a summons into his head in the middle of it all. And he certainly hadn’t planned to be handed the Antichrist itself, after driving over an hour through London traffic and increasingly painful cramps.

  
And now, after all that, Crowley’s standing in the front room of an abbey. A Satanist abbey. With a gaggle of nuns (of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl, one of them now holding the Antichrist in a basket) staring at him. He stares back.

  
“Look,” he pants, “I don’t have time to answer questions, but I need a room, and if you tell anyone, there will literally be hell to pay.”

  
Well, that gets them moving, at least. He’s shown to a room by a nun who hovers at the door, lets him know where towels and such are and how to reach someone if he needs help – and then keeps hovering. She looks unsure (which he supposes is understandable, it’s not every day you meet a pregnant demon).

“Thank you,” he says pointedly, “I think I can manage from here.”

  
“Are you sure? It’s not a bother; that is after all what we’re here for –"

“Yes, I’m sure. Just leave me be, I’ll be fine.”

  
“But –”

  
_“Go!”_ Crowley turns around and snatches his sunglasses off, giving the nun a very clear view of his snake eyes; she gasps and hurries away, and he sighs. Drops the glasses on a table and wanders aimlessly around the room for a moment, holding his belly. Looks like a hospital room with the wrong backdrop. Gothic architecture instead of…whatever you’d call a hospital. Aziraphale would know.

  
…Aziraphale. Right. Angel must be damn near having a heart attack. Crowley takes out his phone and punches in the number by muscle memory alone, then continues to wander while it rings.

  
“A.Z. Fell's Rare Books; I’m afraid we’re very much closed at the moment –”

  
“Angel. It’s me.”

  
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a relieved “Crowley!”

  
“Yeah, hi. Listen –”

  
“Thank goodness, I was afraid something had happened – what did they want? Are you alright? I hope you’re on your way back –”

  
“Angel. Shut up and listen.” Crowley takes a deep breath “I’m not coming back to the shop.”

  
“You’re -- why??”

  
“Contractions are too close together. Wouldn’t make it. I’m at an abbey –”

  
“An abbey? What in the world –”

  
“It’s a…a Satanist one. Chattering Order. ‘s a long story. Anyway, I’ll be alright here until the baby comes, and I’ll head back as soon as I can.” Aziraphale starts to make a noise of protest, and Crowley cuts him off “This is a rare instance that _wouldn’t_ be improved by having you here.” there’s silence on the other end, so he continues, “what I mean is, they’re Satanist nuns, angel. They’re bound to put two and two together if you’re here for the birth. Word gets around, and we’d both be in trouble.”

Aziraphale sighs. “I understand.”

“’m sorry, angel.”

  
“So am I, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

  
Crowley leans on the bed; there’s another one coming soon, and his legs are wobbly. “There is one thing, actually.”

  
“What is it?”

  
“…stay on the line with me?”

  
He hears Aziraphale smile. “Of course, dear.”

* * *

And that’s how it goes. While the ineffable sleight-of-hand is taking place on the floor above him, Crowley paces around his room, leaning on whatever’s closest when a wave hits him. And always with his phone held to his ear. Aziraphale’s pacing too, on the other end; just endless circuits around his bookshop. He talks about nothing to ground Crowley through the contractions and distract him in-between, and Crowley offers increasingly sparse commentary.

  
The contractions were a little under five minutes apart when Crowley arrived; within an hour or so they’re down to three. He doesn’t make much noise (spending time in Hell gives you a good pain tolerance), just moans and sighs and growls. Until the time drops again to two, which is when things get interesting. His water breaks in the middle of a lap through the room (which, wow, how can that much _anything_ fit inside a single body); he sheds his pants soon after, and continues to wander until his legs really get uncooperative. Then he moves to the bed.

  
Transition is a rather miserable blur. He really gets loud then. He’s tired, he’s frustrated, the whole evening’s been a mess, and it hurts. Aziriphale does his best to talk Crowley through it, but it’s a losing battle at that point; half the time he’s holding the phone away from his ear anyway, since Crowley’s yelling.

  
Pushing is similarly miserable, but mercifully shorter. Crowley ends up standing next to the bed, leaned over with his palms flat on the mattress, absolutely not caring that his ass is very much on display toward the unlocked door. Aziraphale’s on speakerphone now, talking him through it (he read up extensively on the subject during Crowley’s pregnancy); the phone is between Crowley’s hands, and it’s the only thing he can even try to focus on.

  
_“…seven, eight, nine, ten; now breathe…very good, Crowley. I’m so proud of you.”_

  
“Oh, shut up.” he doesn’t mean it, not entirely; he dips his hand down between his legs to check, expecting to find zero progress just like the last ten times he checked. But instead, as the contraction ends, his fingers brush against the crown of his son’s head. He lets out a little bemused “oh” and puts his hand back on the mattress.

_“Crowley? What is it?”_

  
“Crowning,” he says calmly. Aziraphale immediately launches into a chorus of praise and encouragements, until Crowley takes a breath to push.  
He hears the angel talking him through the contraction, then a moment of staticky silence; it gives him an unexpected jolt of panic.  
“Angel--?”

  
_“Yes, I’m here. Are you alright?”_

  
“Fine, I just thought you’d – _ahhh, fucking hell_ –”  
Yeah. Definitely crowning. Crowley yells at the top of his lungs as he pushes, and is very glad that he doesn’t need to breathe because he would have passed out by now.

  
_“You’re doing so well, love, just breathe. Stay with your breath.”_

  
“What the fuck does that even mean??”

  
_“I don’t know, I just th***** it **ght hel**--”_

  
“‘zira, you’re breaking up – “Crowley interrupts himself to yell again; a little voice at the back of his mind comments dryly that this must be why it’s called the ‘ring of fire’. His hand goes between his legs again, just in time to feel the baby’s head slip free. Crowley laughs with relief. “Angel, his head’s out…!”  
Nothing. No happy chattering, no excited praise. He looks down at his phone. The words ‘DROPPED CALL’ blink on the screen. He swears vehemently, but doesn’t get the chance to do anything about it because the next second, his body is right back into the fray and he’s pushing with everything he’s got.  
It’s quick after that, thank G – thank Sa – thank _whoever._ Crowley crouches by the bed, both hands between his legs, ready to catch; feeling the shoulders turn, and the bone-on-bone grinding of it, is easily the strangest and most unpleasant thing he’s felt in all his 6,000 years.  
And then it’s over. The weight in his belly shifts, then he shifts as well to catch the baby as it almost slips past his hands. Crowley lifts him up to his chest and sits back on the floor, smiling broadly. And upstairs, at almost the same moment, little Adam is delivered to his new parents. And so it goes.

* * *

Poor Aziraphale is a bundle of nerves. He couldn’t get ahold of Crowley again after the call dropped, which of course led him right to the worst-case scenario. He goes to the kitchen and makes himself some cocoa to calm his frayed nerves, and spends the rest of the night organizing books. Thank goodness he doesn’t need to sleep.

  
Morning comes. Crowley does not.

Aziriphale tries to call him a few more times, to no avail, and eventually goes back to his books.

  
Then noon rolls around. And someone knocks on the door. He’s about to go out to tell them it’s closed when he hears the shop bell jingle (didn’t he lock that door last night?). So, he hurries out to the front of the shop to give whoever it is a Piece of His Mind – and comes face-to-face with a demon. His demon. Crowley is immaculately dressed as usual, but the state of his hair and the bags under his eyes tell a different story. As does the wicker basket he’s carrying. Aziriphale stares.

  
“Angel,” says Crowley.

  
"Crowley," says Aziraphale.

  
Then Crowley slouches in, basket and all. He's still got his saunter, but it seems like an afterthought. He's carrying himself very carefully, as though keeping this form together is taking an awful lot of effort. It probably is. He saunter-limps through to the back of the shop, pauses at the stairs and seems to decide against them, then goes instead to an overstuffed armchair and sinks into it with the basket in his lap. Aziraphale hovers in the doorway. After a minute or two, Crowley takes off his sunglasses and rubs at his eyes, then smirks.

  
"What, no 'hello'? No 'I was worried, good to see you in one piece'?" he teases. His voice is rusty.

  
Aziraphale pads slowly up to the chair. He's never seen Crowley look quite so bone-deep tired, not in all the centuries they've known each other. He leans down to plant a kiss on Crowley's forehead; the demon leans into it like a cat.

  
"Hello," Aziraphale says gently. "I was worried. It's good to see you in one piece." Crowley laughs to himself. He walked right into that one.

  
"I mean it," the angel continues. "I'm glad you're safe. Both of you. When the call dropped, I was afraid something terrible had happened."

  
"Well, clearly not...really, all you missed was me screaming my lungs out."

  
"But he's...you're both alright?"

  
"Yeah...the nuns gave him one of those tests, Apgar or whoever; weighed him and all that. Said he's healthy as a horse. Seven pounds, six ounces." Crowley looks up at Aziraphale. "Wanna meet him?"

  
Aziraphale's grin is answer enough.

  
Crowley moves over to the couch, and Aziraphale follows but stays standing until Crowley grouses at him to "sit _down,_ angel, I won't bite." Then he lifts the basket into his lap and opens the top. He reaches in, talking softly, and lifts out a small, tightly-swaddled someone.

  
"Hey," he breathes. "there you are. Told you we'd make it home okay, huh?" the baby frowns in a rather uncanny imitation of Aziraphale, and Crowley snorts. He glances up to see the angel watching with stars in his eyes, and smiles. It's a soft smile. One that only Aziraphale ever gets to see. "His hair's red already," he muses. "well, mostly. And it's curly, look --" he unwraps part of the blankets and sure enough: not a full head of hair, but a dusting of strawberry blonde curls. Aziraphale ghosts his hand over them, and the baby frowns again.

  
"Hello," Aziraphale whispers. "Aren't you beautiful." the baby cracks an eye open to peer at him, and his smile widens. "Hello, my love."

  
"Yeah, that's who's been talking to you nonstop all this time," Crowley says to the baby, "no wonder you recognize him." the angel huffs a little, but doesn't say anything. Then Crowley sits up a little straighter and nods to Aziraphale. "Hold your arms out a little."

  
The angel does as he's told, and Crowley leans over and plops the baby into his arms. Aziraphale lets out a little "oh" of surprise and goes very still. Crowley puts the basket on the floor and sits back, a small, contented smile on his face.

  
"You can relax a little, angel. He's not gonna jump out of your arms."

  
And Aziraphale does relax, but only a little bit. The baby wriggles in his arms, makes a quiet, sleepy noise, and settles, and he watches every movement with fascination.

  
"Tiny little thing, isn't he," he remarks.

  
"Yeah...seven pounds sounds like a lot, but it really isn't."

  
Aziraphale sinks back into the couch cushions a little more, still staring down at the baby. "I wonder," he says softly, "if this is how the Almighty felt. At Eden, before...everything happened."

  
"Mm. She had a lot to be proud of. So do we."

  
A few more minutes pass in relative silence before Aziraphale speaks again. "You told me a few weeks ago, didn't you, that you'd picked out a name for him?"

  
"Mm-hmm."

  
"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

  
Crowley gives him a little sly smile. "Well, it's one you might find familiar," he drawls.

  
"Oh?"

  
"How does Zachariah sound?" Crowley leans over to nonchalantly fuss with the hem of the baby's blanket. Aziraphale stares at him.

  
"Zachariah? that's a --"

  
"An angelic name, yeah." the demon glances up at him "that okay?"

  
Aziraphale slowly smiles, and looks down at the baby. "Zachariah," he says, testing it. "It suits him, I think."

  
Crowley scoots over, leans his head on the angel's shoulder, and sighs. "It's funny...we don't even need to sleep, but I don't think I've ever been this tired."

  
"Well, we're a little more human than we were before, love. I'm not surprised you're tired." he rests his cheek on the top of Crowley's head and adds, softly, "he's beautiful." Crowley smiles against his shoulder. He's been fighting sleep since last night, but now that he's home, it's winning.

  
"Look what we did," Aziraphale continues, stroking one finger along the baby's cheek. "We finally did something perfectly right."

  
"Mm-hmm," says Crowley absently. He sighs, and they fall silent. He’s finally starting to doze when he hears Aziraphale murmuring in Enochian, and feels something distinctly angelic. Crowley sits up. “Angel?” he says blearily. “What’re you doing…?”

  
“A blessing,” Aziraphale murmurs. “just a small one.” he glances at Crowley and gives him a small smile. “It’s alright, it won’t affect you.”

  
“It better not, I’m the one who’ll have to feed him in two hours.” Crowley nestles back down against Aziraphale to resume his nap. Feels Aziraphale lean on him, and sighs.

  
“By the way,” says Aziraphale, “what did Hastur and Ligur want?”

  
Crowley thinks for a moment, about the meeting in the cemetery and the basket and the nuns and the abbey and the not-so-normal baby. Then he looks at his own baby in Aziraphale’s arms, half-asleep with his fists balled up under his chin, and decides it can wait. He shrugs against Aziraphale’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

  
“Oh, nothing,” he sighs. “Nothing important.”

ooO0Ooo

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the story, please leave a comment -- I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
